


Reaching for Moonlight

by triggerswaggiehavoc



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Drama & Romance, Emotional Baggage, Eventual Romance, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Slow Build, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-03 01:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17274659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerswaggiehavoc/pseuds/triggerswaggiehavoc
Summary: It can be so hard to find a thing called love when the world's eyes are watching. Pose just right on the silver screen and pretend it doesn't get to you.





	Reaching for Moonlight

When you do this kind of work, you get the invite to these kinds of parties. Huge ones, with so many guests you never see the same face twice all night, enough big names to fill a phone book. Since his acting career took off a few years ago, Jeonghan has been to a number of these parties. He never would’ve dared to dream of it back when he was a fresh college dropout, scrambling for community theater roles under the pressure of two jobs, but now it’s almost normal. Maybe it’s out of respect for the novelty, for the slim chances that got him here in the first place, that he keeps going to every one.

This time, the occasion is the wrap on his latest film. Of course, there’s rarely just one reason. Filming was over nearly three weeks ago already, and the director’s been waiting around for some arbitrary reason or other to really put an event on. They never make any sense, and Jeonghan forgets the excuse right after he hears it, dismisses it with the promise he’ll show. He’s worked with this director a few times by now, and he’s used to the place. Some of the kids from the cast are coming to a party like this for the first time, and he can tell from the second they walk in. Knees shaking like newborn deer, eyes like saucers. He’s glad he wasn’t quite that young the first time he had the chance to show up.

Naturally, when the grounds for celebration isn’t merely the conclusion of filming, the guest list isn’t just the cast. There are plenty of other stars here, many Jeonghan has met and many he hasn’t, and so many other types to boot. High-rolling businessmen he recognizes by name more than by face, rich enough to buy him six times over without batting an eye. And then there are others still—models, certain socialites, some of the director’s particular friends. There’s no point in trying to mingle with everyone, much less become decently acquainted, so Jeonghan doesn’t. Instead, he lifts the first glass handed to him and walks off with a grin to await the inevitable approach of someone else.

It’s quiet in the part of the house he heads to, not yet filled with guests. Most of them will probably be arriving fashionably late, even later and more fashionable than the rest of them already are, so he takes the time to savor the calm and have his glass. It’s a pink wine, a subtle flavor, and he closes his eyes while he drinks it. A glass is usually just enough to make him comfortable, help him feel like staying is better than going home.

“Hello,” calls a small voice from a few feet away, and Jeonghan opens his eyes to look for the speaker.

The kid’s name is Chan, one of the no-names they had on the bill this time around, and he stands just far enough away to save his own embarrassment if by chance Jeonghan hadn’t heard him. Shoulders hunched and toes pointed in, he’s making it clear enough that he’s never attended anything like this before, though it’s somehow touching how nice he’s dressed, high fashion and sleek. He smiles and touches the side of his slicked hair, glass teetering in his other hand. Jeonghan sighs. He’s so young, only twenty or twenty-one if Jeonghan is remembering right, so fresh and bright-eyed. Usually, Jeonghan still feels young, but when he looks at kids like this, he feels so much older. Already thirty this year, huh? He dredges up a smile.

“Good to see you,” he says. “Having fun so far?”

“I guess,” Chan tells him, shuffling a little closer. Typically, that’s code for no. Judging by the level of his glass, he hasn’t even chanced a single sip yet. “There are so many people here. I’ve never been to anything like this before.” He must not realize how obvious he’s making that.

Something about him makes Jeonghan feel a little emotional. Off set, he’s quiet despite a determination to be friendly, but on set, he was always driven. They worked a lot of scenes together, and he did well in them, so much better than Jeonghan probably could have done at that age. It makes him feel both proud and defeated. There’s a bright future there for sure. He takes a look at the flute in Chan’s hand.

“Don’t drink?” he guesses. Chan’s eyes twinkle a little in response, cheeks color.

“Not really,” he admits. “Actually, I never have before, and I think maybe now…” His eyes follow the ceiling, trace around the slowly growing crowd forming around them. “Maybe I ought to wait until I’m around some of my own friends to see how I take it. You know?”

“Ah, so we’re not friends?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“I’m just teasing you,” Jeonghan says, laughing. “You’re such a good kid.” Chan frowns. Jeonghan holds forth his empty glass and wiggles it. “Here, switch with me. If you’re worried about someone getting on your case, just pretend you drank it.” Slowly, silently, Chan relinquishes his own glass and relieves Jeonghan of his, face smacked with relief.

“Who knew you were so nice?” he muses softly, eyes flicking just a bit to the side. Probably isn’t sure whether he’s qualified to use that level of sarcasm. Jeonghan grins back at him.

“Try to have fun tonight,” he says. “You should enjoy your youth.”

“You know,” Chan says, “the only time you seem old is when you say things like that.”

“When you get to be my age and you’re working with kids your age, we’ll see how young you feel.”

“Well, who knows if I’ll still be around then?”

Jeonghan kicks at his ankle. “And you’re too young to be so pessimistic.” He gestures at the rest of the room. “I’m sure you’ve got a great future coming. Go make some friends.”

“Are you shooing me away?”

“Not shooing,” Jeonghan corrects. “Just guiding.” A spike in noise forces him to take fresh stock of the room, and he notices how many more people have arrived. “Networking is important, you know. You should get at least three phone numbers today, if you know what’s good for you.”

“Does yours count?”

“No.”

“Fine,” Chan huffs, clutching his glass a little tighter. He looks to the side and makes eye contact with another one of the newbie actors who’s just shown up, and Jeonghan already knows where he’s going to head next. “I’ll go network. Thanks for switching drinks with me.”

“Sure thing,” he says. “Enjoy yourself.”

As he watches Chan walk off, he feels a pang beneath his ribs not unlike what he suspects parents feel when they watch their children graduate high school. Slowly, the burning in his chest fades back to nothing, and he drinks from Chan’s glass. Whatever he picked up is so much stronger than Jeonghan’s first drink, and he’s glad to have saved him from it. He takes his time draining its contents, savoring the flavor just as much as he allows himself to get used to it.

All around him, the room is filling. It’s not unusual for the guest list to be massive, but it always catches him off-guard somehow, this roiling sea of unfamiliar faces. By now, every room is probably getting to be just about this crowded, but he still decides to leave in search of a little space, wandering through narrow halls and smiling at people he’s met at parties previous. Each new room he passes is unsurprisingly quite full, and after a few minutes’ roaming, he settles at last on the most open. It’s a study of sorts, though the shelves are lined with souvenirs rather than books. In the absence of seating, Jeonghan takes to standing near the edge of the loft overlooking the lower floor, elbows resting on the banister.

Below, by the entrance, his eye catches on something. A head, stark black hair a standout among the crowd of lighter browns and blondes, moving gradually into the recesses of the throng. Jeonghan watches the hair, curling to a stop just below the backs of the ears, until the head it’s on pivots and he can see the face. A pair of glasses rests useless just shy of the tip of the nose, and Jeonghan blinks a few times. Just as he was expecting, though he’s not sure why.

He’s seen this guy’s face before, but he’s never seen him at one of these parties, much less met him. Jeonghan recalls his name is Minghao, and he’s a model who’s been gaining traction recently—with good reason, he figures. He doesn’t fit the mold of most other male models on the scene, mostly because he’s skinny as a rail, but it’s that same distinction that lands him in so many shoots, on so many runways. They say his career really started to take off after they had him fill the spot of a female model who fell sick at a show, though Jeonghan has trouble believing it. He thinks the clothes would fit him fine, but it’s tough to fathom that the designers and staff would be unprepared enough to allow it. If it is true, he’d like to see the evidence.

Minghao seems to move through a different vein of space, through a small creek of slower time in the midst of company. The rest of the partygoers are a blur of motion around him as he alone wades through the muck of congestion, snailish yet elegant, a clean path toward the nearest waitstaff member to pluck one of the drink glasses from atop the tray. He watches Minghao take another measured step forward, and it occurs to him that he’s been staring a while too long and ought to look away. When Minghao decides to take a sudden glance up, Jeonghan is still looking at him.

Their eyes lock, and before Jeonghan realizes it, they’ve held eye contact for too long to look away and pretend nothing happened. Minghao’s face looking up at him is perfectly stoic, a by-product of training to make no expression on the runway, and Jeonghan tries to match it with his own, though he can’t tell how well he’s holding up. The longer he looks into Minghao’s eyes, the more he feels like his grip on the stem of his glass is weakening. Eventually, he takes a gentle sip, then offers a smile. Minghao blinks and returns his eyes back to their own level, then walks again until he’s disappeared into the side of the room below where Jeonghan stands. He takes another sip.

What a strange way to encounter someone for the first time. He wonders as he gazes out again over the blur of the crowd whether that could be considered meeting someone, whether looking into someone’s eyes from afar for long enough might somehow be on par with saying hello. A subdued current of electricity buzzes around in his stomach, and he keeps drinking. It was so different than he would have expected, looking into those eyes. From the pictures he’s seen, from the snippets of articles he’s glanced at, Minghao seems like a serious person, quiet and reserved, sharp and direct. Looking into his eyes, the vibe was so different, almost like they were speaking to each other, almost like they’d met before. Somehow, there was a warmth in them, one that makes Jeonghan feel like he’s still being looked at and into even when he knows better. He mixes the imbalanced nerves in his stomach with another few sips of drink.

For a short time, he keeps his eyes on the twisting masses below, wonders whether he should find somewhere else to exist for a while. Usually, he’s perfectly willing to be social, but tonight, he hasn’t quite got the usual sense of calm in him. Maybe it’s the vague paternal worry over whether Chan is doing okay. Maybe it’s the lingering smoke from the eye contact just now. He can’t know. So he stands in the same spot and continues to drink.

As he waits to feel like socializing, he finishes his drink and decides that he’ll just settle for talking to anyone who might decide to come speak to him. It’s reasonable enough. Surely sometime or other, the director will be making the rounds to drunkenly thank everyone for coming, or one of his costars will come find him to sing praises they’re finally done. Like it or not, someone will be by before too long. He’s still gazing down when at last such a person approaches.

“Evening,” a voice says, soft and low from a form that sidles up beside him. In his periphery, he sees two elbows mimic his own and come to rest on the banister. The voice isn’t familiar, and when he turns to face its speaker, he sees why.

“Evening,” he echoes, hollow. Minghao stands still beside him, relaxed yet stiff, vision aimed down at the same floor below Jeonghan’s been eyeing for a while now. Up close, something about him is so poised, so refined, though all he does is stand. The clothes he wears are simple, but they outpace everyone else in the place by a mile. It may just be the way he wears them; Jeonghan doesn’t know. His skin is awash with gold.

“Is there a reason,” Minghao asks, “that you’re standing here, looking down at everyone else?”

“Not in  particular,” Jeonghan says after a while. When Minghao never turns to meet his eyes, he joins him in surveying their fellow guests on the lower floor.

“Is there a reason you were staring at me?”

His voice is so different than Jeonghan thought it would be. The way he’d been imagining it was cold and sharp, but in reality, hearing him speak now, it’s nothing like that. Though he doesn’t necessarily emanate friendliness, it’s a warm voice, a comforting timbre that makes him feel like he can relax. Gradually, he slides his gaze over to Minghao again, and this time, he’s being looked back at. Eye contact from this distance is unbelievably strange. Not more natural and not less natural. Only strange.

“Not in particular,” he repeats. Minghao keeps looking at him.

“That so?”

“Well, you happened to catch my eye,” he says. It sounds like an excuse. It might be one. “I didn’t mean to stare.” Another silent beat passes by, and Minghao doesn’t look away. Jeonghan doesn’t look away either. He feels something tethering him from deep inside those eyes, something soft but warning. “I hope you’re not thinking I’m some sketchy guy.” For the first time, Minghao cracks a smile. His eyes crinkle just a little, lips stretch to expose a straight row of teeth. He looks much younger when he smiles.

“Nothing like that,” he says.

For another few moments, they look at one another, then Minghao breaks to return his attention to the lower floor. Jeonghan follows suit, and they stand in silence. His glass is long empty, and he watches beside him as Minghao’s approaches emptiness as well. When the final few drops have been drained, he expects Minghao to leave, but he doesn’t. Still they stand, wordless, distanced. Jeonghan wants to feel confused, but somehow, it doesn’t seem that confusing.

“We haven’t introduced ourselves yet,” he adds, eons later, absently. Minghao shuffles closer, but Jeonghan only notices when their elbows bump into each other on their shared rest, a hushed clash of bones.

“I already know who you are,” Minghao says, head tilting to the side. “If you know who I am, there’s no point.”

“I know who you are,” Jeonghan tells him. He lets the words hang in the air a moment, but something doesn’t feel right, so he follows up with, “Minghao.” Just to be sure. A quick glance to his right says Minghao is smiling again, a little less full this time but somehow more realized. He looks so young, and not in the way kids look young, not in the way Chan does. He looks young in the way lovers do when they look at each other, the youth that comes with knowing there’s so much life left ahead. Jeonghan’s heart seizes, just a little bit.

“Jeonghan,” Minghao says softly in reply. A small smile flits to Jeonghan’s lips before he has the chance to expect it. He tries to hide it with a sip of his drink, but when the rim of the glass reaches his mouth, he recalls again he’s already drunk it all. Minghao’s elbow presses against his own ceaselessly. “I’m a little surprised you know who I am.”

“Why’s that?”

“Just am,” Minghao says, shrugging. “I’m always surprised.”

Jeonghan hums. “But you’re quite the hot item these days. I’d be surprised if someone didn’t know you.”

“That so?”

“It is.”

Quiet falls around them again, thick in the midst of the party’s bustle. It’s strange how all the noise seems so far away, like Minghao is carrying the hush wish him, like he’s draped it over their shoulders and wrapped it around their ears. When he speaks, though, it still carries, quiet beneath the quiet, so easy to hear.

“You’re less talkative than I thought you would be,” he says. Beside him, Jeonghan blows out a breath, eyes still glued to the crowd. Their elbows remain an electric link, buzzing where they refuse to move.

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to take that,” Jeonghan says. He rests a beat before daring to turn and face Minghao fully, eyes leveling. “It sounds like you’re saying I look obnoxious.”

Minghao’s silhouette from the side is interesting too, in enigmatic ways. His profile traces nicely against the creamy pallor of the wall far behind him, neither dark nor light, perfectly smooth in all its dips and swells. He turns then to face Jeonghan, light sliding in pools over his cheeks, and Jeonghan thinks that there are so many beautiful people in the world.

“Nothing like that.” Minghao smiles again when he speaks, though now it seems like he’s doing it because he has to. Jeonghan wishes he wouldn’t. “You just seem social. But you’re actually quiet.”

“I’m not usually this quiet,” Jeonghan says, blinking slowly. “Somehow I just don’t feel much like talking tonight.” He chuckles, soft and lazy, pulls his lips into a wiry grin. “Sorry you had to meet me like this.”

“It’s not bad.” His voice ripples warm through the air, something like melting chocolate or daisies bending in the summer wind. “It’s easy to talk when I’m not the only quiet one.”

“Guess it would be.”

Jeonghan has a lot of questions now that he’d like answered. Why, mainly. Why Minghao would bother coming to speak with him if he thought he’d be outtalked. Why he had thoughts about how Jeonghan would be to begin with. Maybe the answers are obvious if Jeonghan reasons his way to them, but he doesn’t want to reason. He wants to ask.  Lips parted, he readies himself to let the first question his mind brings off his tongue, but there’s a loud call from one of the more interior rooms, then a hush as everyone around them begins to shift.

“Wonder what’s going on,” Minghao muses, idle, watching the departing backs of those around him. It might be his first time at one of these, too. Just like Chan, yet so unlike him. He seems so much more comfortable.

“A toast,” Jeonghan explains. “He always does one even though everyone’s started drinking already. He’ll talk in ten circles without even saying anything. And then we’ll toast.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, it’s the greatest.”

After a moment, Minghao looks back at him, and they stay there a while, eyes meeting over a foot and a half of empty space. Their elbows stay pressed together, a bud of neon heat sitting heavy on Jeonghan’s skin. He waits for Minghao to move, but they stay just as still. Seconds pass. Minutes. Years. Minghao smiles and leans forward, just enough that the fresh mint of his cologne hits Jeonghan with a stiff right hook to the jaw.

“Would you be crushed if we missed it?” Minghao asks. His voice is rose petals dusting over Jeonghan’s cheek, and that _we_ makes parts of Jeonghan feel like they’re melting.

“You have something better in mind?” he manages to ask over the growing numbness in his hands. He thinks maybe he already knows what Minghao might have in mind. When Minghao leans his weight off the banister and starts walking, Jeonghan follows close behind him.

 

They catch a ride with one of the drivers waiting around the backside of the place, down quiet roads and out of the eyes of so-called journalists trying to peek in through the front gates. Minghao’s staying at a hotel across town, and it’s quite a drive to get there. En route, they don’t do much talking, Minghao leaned against the window and Jeonghan hovering in the adjacent seat. He starts to wonder why they’re leaving together to begin with when they’ve only just met, but in the same vein, something feels so natural. Even though they don’t speak, the air doesn’t have that suffocating weight that usually comes with unwelcome silence. Somehow, there’s a warmth to it, a warmth not unlike Minghao’s voice, subtle and unexpected. It’s warm still when Minghao grabs Jeonghan by the wrist and tugs him out of the car.

The hotel lobby is nice, a blur of marbled tile and mahogany, but they don’t spend much time there. Minghao brings them to the elevator, pace neither fast nor slow, and then they’re watching the numbers climb higher on the screen in front of them in neon red. The grip on Jeonghan’s wrist releases, but the hand stays hovering close by, close enough to feel through the air. As the doors open to let them out, Jeonghan wonders what he’s getting into. Then he follows Minghao out anyway.

Everything in the place is done in neutral muted colors, and the room is no different. A wide bed covered in a thick cream duvet greets them when they enter, between beige walls and warm brown carpet. Minghao takes off his shoes and slides onto the edge of the bed, crisp black slacks drawing a sharp contrast against the folds, twin shadows freefalling in straight lines. Taking his own shoes off, Jeonghan makes his way to the small desk opposite and sits in the chair. Minghao raises his eyebrows.

“Feeling cautious?” he asks. Sudden nerves twist up in Jeonghan’s stomach, and he laughs a little to shoo them away.

“Maybe a little,” he lets slip. It seems somehow like Minghao won’t judge him, and maybe he doesn’t. His eyes crinkle in a smile.

“That so?” He leans back on his hands and tilts his head to the side, exposes a touch more of his neck. There’s an invitation in it Jeonghan can’t quite read. “I guess you might be.”

“Should I?”

There’s an impossible change in the color of Minghao’s eyes. They’re lighter and darker and the same all at once, flaring bright with color. Jeonghan chalks it up to the lighting. “I don’t think so,” Minghao tells him. “I just thought it would be easier to talk somewhere quiet.”

“You want to talk?” Jeonghan asks. It catches him off-guard in a room where the bed is taking up so much of the floorplan and, by extension, his thoughts. “What about?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Minghao tells him, reclining fully. He sinks almost to invisibility in the plush of the bedding. “Just talking is relaxing, somehow. It’s been a while since I’ve felt so much like talking.”

“I guess I’m honored, then.”

From his sunken position, Minghao tilts his head up. Jeonghan can just barely make out his eyes, but they’re still burning into him. Gently, from the temples.

“You can talk about anything,” he says before flopping back down.

Slowly, Jeonghan rolls his chair forward across the carpet. It makes a low shuffling sound, like a train rattling gently along rails, blanketed in snow. He moves until he can make out Minghao’s face again, right up to the side of the bed. Their knees touch barely. Minghao looks straight into his eyes.

“Weren’t you the one who wanted to talk?” Jeonghan asks.

“I don’t mind listening,” Minghao tells him. Absently, his thumb smooths over one patch of comforter, back and forth, a lazy metronome. He looks almost like he might fall asleep, but there’s too much light dancing around his irises to let Jeonghan believe it. “I think it’s because you seem genuine.”

“Oh, do I?”

“So just say anything,” Minghao repeats. “Whatever you’re thinking about. Doesn’t matter.”

“I’m thinking about this bed,” Jeonghan blurts, pressing his hand into the duvet. Minghao raises his eyebrows and looks at Jeonghan sideways, hand going still beside him. Parts of Jeonghan regret being so fully honest, but if Minghao wants to think he’s genuine, he’ll be genuine. “It’s huge,” Jeonghan explains.

“You can lay on it too, if you want,” Minghao tells him, wriggling to the side. For a moment, Jeonghan contemplates whether he ought to. He hears the sound of the chair creaking empty before he feels his body leaving it. Caution be damned, he guesses.

Beneath him, the bedding is soft, gives way as his body melts into it. He feels Minghao’s elbow bumping against his, an electric warmth that spreads shallow over his skin through the blazers each of them wear. While he lies there, he stares at the ceiling, catches Minghao’s dangling legs in his periphery. He wonders how Chan is doing at the party and if he’s managed to pry his own shell open yet. His mind rolls off that track when he sees Minghao sit up and shrug his coat off.

Jeonghan could already tell he was slim with it on, but when he’s taken it off and all that lies beneath is a dark turtleneck, it’s hard not to notice. Bones jut out beneath the knit over his shoulders, quietly interrupting their gentle slope, and his neck stretches long between them even over the top of the collar. There’s something silently graceful about him, Jeonghan thinks, something almost birdlike. A crane poised beside a lake, staring out over the water, ready to take flight at a moment’s notice. Minghao is looking back at him when Jeonghan thinks to notice, and his chest tightens a little.

“You’re staring again,” Minghao says. He pulls at the end of his sleeves, exposes smooth stretches of forearm. There’s a gold watch fastened firm around his left wrist. Jeonghan’s a sucker for a guy in a watch.

“I was just thinking,” Jeonghan begins, pulling himself upright, leaning into that green scent, “that you’re beautiful.”

“Oh, were you?” Minghao’s lips tug into a small smirk, and he leans closer, close enough that Jeonghan could count his eyelashes. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

Jeonghan laughs. “Yeah, I would bet I’m not.”

“It is my job,” Minghao says. “To be beautiful, I mean. Don’t you think?”

“Well, maybe,” Jeonghan allows, though he isn’t sure that’s all there is to it. “But you’re not working right now.”

Without warning, Minghao’s hand is hot on his cheek, then his lips on Jeonghan’s, even hotter. Their mouths melt into each other in a way Jeonghan has almost forgotten they could, and that mint is everywhere on Jeonghan’s body, sinking into his skin. Minghao’s hand stays in its place on Jeonghan’s face when he pulls himself away, eyes glittering, diamonds scattered in midnight sand. His lips part like he wants to say something, but Jeonghan doesn’t want him to. He slides a hand behind Minghao’s ear and kisses him again.

Far off, the party swings on, a distant cluster of noise isolated in a completely different world. Through the curtained window, in a navy black sky, the moon hangs full, spreading soft white light over the late evening streets like down feathers. Jeonghan knows nothing about either. In a small space, a universe built for two, he plants kisses on Minghao’s jaw. Slowly, like light bending into rainbow through a prism, he works his way down the neck.

**Author's Note:**

> hey everybody happy new year. the bitch is back in town. i know i have been fully gone for the past several months due to being super busy with school but it's 2019 now and i'm gonna get back into writing,... and i'm starting with this jeonghao idea i had in like july. i'm not sure how many chapters it's gonna be yet, but i hope you'll ride out the journey with me bc i just know i'm gonna be pouring a lot of energy into her. if you've made it all the way here, thanks so much for reading! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated, and i'll see you again with the next chapter whenever that's ready to hit the press. happy new year!


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